Viewpoints
by Calatrice
Summary: How Jack, Will and Elizabeth spend the evening before Jack Sparrow's "execution".


The Night Before

Confinement

As condemned cells went, it really wasn't too bad, Jack Sparrow mused as he slouched against a wall. The straw on the floor was clean, they emptied the slop bucket regularly and the food was decent, if a bit plain. Best of all, under the circumstances, was a regular allowance of grog courtesy of being held by the Royal Navy. The three men Norrington had posted to watch him were not a talkative bunch, but they knew their business and kept their hands to themselves. All in all, it could have been much, much worse for his last few hours on this earth. 

He'd done it. Ten years it had taken. Ten years of hauling that bloody pistol around, chasing after rumours, waiting for the opportune moment. Damned boring a lot of it had been too, for Barbosa as well as himself. The old swine had looked almost relieved at the end. Jack smiled slightly, just for a moment, then grinned a bit more as he heard the guards shift uneasily outside the cell. Three guards, you had to admit it was flattering to have three guards for a man in irons locked in a cell with a door that couldn't be levered off its hinges, even if a convenient young man should happen by to help.

But then he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

The bolts on the outer door scraped back. "Visitor to see the prisoner," muttered an unseen escort.

Will, or perhaps even Elizabeth? Jack started to rise to see which of his friends had dropped by for a last chat.

"Please, don't get up on my account."

It wasn't Will or Elizabeth, come to help him with another mad escape plan. There in the lamplight stood a chubby, rather elderly parson, peering at him apologetically through the bars.

A priest? What on earth did Norrington think he would want with spiritual guidance at a time like this? Spirits now, they might come in a bit handy, but if he had to spend the night contemplating his sinful life, then at least he wanted to be left in peace to enjoy it properly.

The parson wilted a bit under his gaze and reached up nervously to adjust his powdered wig. It was that worried little gesture that finally made Jack remember him.

"Clarence! Come in man, and make yourself comfortable." His gold teeth flashed in the dim lamplight as he wriggled round to face his last guest.

"I hope I'm not intruding, but"

"Not at all. Why if it weren't for you I'd have never caught up with the _Pearl_. Anything for an old friend, Clarence."

"So you really did have a use for the compass?"

"Oh yes. I want you to know that it was wonderfully useful. Led me straight to Barbosa's lair it did."

"The town is full of rumours about what happened to Miss Swann and _The Black Pearl_," said Reverend Harbuckle in a hopeful voice, fiddling with his wig again.

"Sit down and take off your wig Reverend. Captain Jack Sparrow himself will tell you all about it. Before you do though, you could use your influence with me guards to get a bit of rum sent down here. I'm parched."

He cocked a hopeful eye at the guards who had been edging nearer, hoping for some nice, juicy titbits about their Commodore's intended. One of them took the hint and slipped out, returning a few moments later with a generous measure in a wooden mug.

"Your very good health!" 

He took a noisy swig and smacked his lips.

"Now then, about ten years ago on a bright moonlit night I was wandering along Tortuga dockside, looking for some friendly company when"

* * *

Conscience

"Dear Miss Swann," wrote Will carefully on the latest sheet of his writing pad. No, that was hopeless. He sounded as though he were presenting a bill. He tore the sheet off, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the fire to join "Dear Elizabeth", "Dearest Elizabeth" and "My Darling Elizabeth". Sword fighting he could do, but clearly love letters were an art he had neglected for far too long.

There was nothing else for it. He would have to tell her. Tomorrow. In front of a crowd. Still, at least his embarrassment wouldn't last for long.

He hadn't expected clemency. Governor Swann adored his only surviving daughter, but the man knew his duty and was normally stern in pursuit of it. Jack had got no such mercy. Only a few hours left until the hanging

He quashed that line of thinking - it wasted too much time. 

He had settled his accounts with the tradesmen, not that he had much by way of debt. 

His sleeping area over the smithy was even neater than usual. He didn't want his old apprenticeship back, even if his master had been willing to have him. He'd done with letting another man claim his work. All those years he'd put in at the forge, all the hours practising with the swords, and for what?

Elizabeth was alive, he must never forget that; but his ridiculous boyish dream of one day proving himself worthy had been shown up for the pathetic fantasy it really was. The Governor's daughter was a gentlewoman born and bred, and no blacksmith's boy sired by a pirate would ever be a fit match for her.

Norrington would be a kind husband to her.

He had blown the last of his savings on a new suit, cloak and hat. That was one lesson he had learned from his time with Jack Sparrow - whatever you are going to do, no matter how insane, do it in style.

Tomorrow he would tell Elizabeth that he loved her, and then however things turned out, whether he escaped or not, he would never lay eyes on her again.

* * *

Corsets

"You'll have to stand a bit straighter miss," said the maid as she tried to wrestle the corset into position for lacing.

Elizabeth had managed to stay out of a corset for two whole blessed days on the way back to Port Royal. As soon as she landed her bruises, and her father's desire to keep her out of public view, had allowed her to stay in her room, comfortably clad in her nightdress. Now she had to get dressed again, for dinner with her father.

Just the two of them. A nice quiet talk, father to daughter, once the servants had left the room.

They had had quite a few such conversations over the years. Elizabeth's governess had been too frail to attempt the long voyage to Port Royal, or to withstand the climate once she arrived. Governor Swann had assumed that it would be a simple matter to procure a suitable lady to act as a companion to his motherless daughter when they reached their new home. In eight years, such a lady had never materialised, but Port Royal was small and Elizabeth was never allowed out of the house without a maid to attend her, so her lack of a chaperone had never seemed pressing. Her father had tried to make up the deficiency, doing his best to fill her mother's place. Most of the time his advice was sympathetic, kindly meant, and Elizabeth had accepted it as such. Everything had changed now.

She had been away for days, and worse, nights. Nights spent on Barbosa's pirate ship, on the island with Jack, on the _Interceptor_ with Will and with Jack's new crew. No lady's reputation could withstand such events. Norrington's whole crew had seen her in her underclothes as she came off the island where she and Jack had been marooned. It was, as her father had reminded her, a miracle that Norrington still wanted her.

But he did still want her, and that was the only reason that Will was not spending his final night in the condemned cell tonight. She had tried everything from impassioned argument to hysterical tears to sway Norrington and her father into releasing Jack. They had proved impervious to every strategy. Duty had to be done, the law had to be seen to be enacted. A pirate was a common criminal and piracy was a capital offence.

The maid wrenched the laces tight and Elizabeth winced. Three days ago she had fought cursed pirates for her life, now this hideous garment had rendered her a pathetic creature, a martyr to the heat and prone to fainting fits.

The dress was just settled over her corset and petticoats when she heard a tentative knock at the door.

"Elizabeth, are you decent?"

She nodded and the maid opened the bedroom door. Her father stood there, still standing a little stiffly after the unaccustomed exercise of the last week. He looked worried, but hopeful as he extended his arm to her.

"I'm glad you're feeling better my dear. Tomorrow will be very difficult for all of us and there are some things I would like to discuss with you."


End file.
